


Into Broken Good

by orphan_account



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Angst, Breathplay, Choking, Coping, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Kink, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, but the ending is kind of hopeful, so there's that, sparring turns to sex, this is not a happy fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-19
Updated: 2013-04-19
Packaged: 2017-12-08 22:02:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/766521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was, at the very heart of it, a good person.</p><p>And war is not kind to good people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Into Broken Good

Natasha knew what it looked like to be haunted.

 

For all of her childhood, it was the only thing she saw in the eyes of her superiors, the other girls, the mirror. She hadn't even known that it was possible to look any different, that someone could be happy without an underlying current of torment. She hadn't even known there was something wrong with what she saw.

That was the way the world was.

It was a nightmare, and you had to get used to it and learn to keep everything coiled within you – even if it blotted out who you were.

 

Because who you were didn't matter.

What mattered was getting the job done.

 

Natasha had a very clear idea of what it looked like, and right now, Steve was drowning in it.

It clawed at him, tearing through his conviction, his semblance of peace.

 

He was, at the very heart of it, a good person.

And war is not kind to good people.

 

It certainly hadn't been to him, from the way he was hitting the punching bag.

Like the sting in his knuckles and the burn in his arms was the only thing that was tying him together.

 

He was tense, angry. Melancholy and a little scared.

 

And he was about to ruin another punching bag.

 

“Steve,”

When he turned to face her, his face was blank. For someone who was so emotional, so open, it was unnerving. Like letting go of everything was the only way to keep him from letting it overtake him completely.

He hadn't been functioning well for some time. Small things would make him stiffen, and excuse himself to be locked in his rooms for long periods of time. Natasha wasn't sure if she was the only one who had noticed, but the others certainly weren't doing anything about it.

And he was getting worse.

 

She nodded her head at the sparring mat, matching the impassiveness of his expression. He didn't want to, from the tightness in his gait as he came over – but he also wasn't going to refuse.

A bag wasn't going to give him what he needed.

 

It started out easy enough.

His style was little more than spur of the moment opportunities seen and taken, she didn't often have problems with him. Natasha was calculating, careful. In a way, almost scientific in her approach. She had everything planned for every possibility she saw. At this point, she didn't even need to think about it, it just happened. But this time, though there were many opportunities, she didn't end the match. Rather than kicking his feet out from under him, she weaved under his arms to shove him backwards.

 

He didn't show it – he still had everything back behind a wall – but he was getting frustrated.

Which was what she wanted. Natasha knew that he _had_ to get angry before it would ever leave him. He had to take out the rage at himself on another person. He had to make them know how much he hated what had happened, and that didn't happen with words.

 

She purposefully infuriated him, slowly peeling away his code of caution and restraint with every hit she dodged, every chance to end it that she didn't take. Until he surprised her.

Steve let go, and his fist connected with her jaw hard enough to send her stumbling backwards.

Natasha caught her balance, looked up at him, and saw the war burning behind his eyes. She rushed him, and he kept surprising her.

 

His style had changed completely, fueled by an unfamiliar motive that kept her on her toes in a way she hadn't been when sparring with him in a long time. He was no longer worried about hurting her, barely checking the force he used and steadily driving her backwards until she finally stopped, shoulder blades hitting the wall with his forearm tight across her throat.

 

And still he betrayed nothing. Aside from a slight tightening in his jaw, it was almost as if nothing had happened. Sweat dripped down the side of his face, and his hair was damp and out of place.

He was looking straight at her, but he was far away.

 

There was no way he would agree to another match, not if she gave him the chance to think, and he was still far from okay.

 

But there were other ways of letting go.

 

So before he could move away from her, before he could retreat into himself only to be smothered by his own memories, Natasha grabbed his shirt and pulled him close enough to kiss him harshly.

 

At first, he did nothing aside from leaning into her touch. Then her hands snaked up around his neck and she pulled at his hair, and he snarled, low in his throat. That was followed by passionate reciprocation of the movements of her mouth on his. He surprised her, honestly, with how rough he was. She had anticipated the need to push him farther, but he had apparently been pushed far enough in day to day life.

 

Arm still pressed against her neck, he began pulling off first her gym shorts, and then his sweats. He bit her bottom lip, and Natasha cried out softly for his benefit as he contorted to twist out of his boxers.

When Steve slipped an arm underneath her thighs to lift her, and she jumped to wrap legs around his waist. He moaned into her mouth, tearing her panties from her skin. That burned, and Natasha tightened her fingers in his hair in response.

 

He made that noise again, the pained snarling, and pressed her up against the wall with his body while his arms ripped hers from around his neck, easily pinning them above her head, crossed at the wrist. He adjusted so that his other hand was tight around her neck, large hand easily dwarfing the slender column.

 

Natasha squeezed her thighs around his hips; tilted her head up, pushing her neck against his hand; and let him take her.

 

He wasn't himself.

If she'd been asked to describe what she imagined sex with Steve would be like, it would be the opposite of this.

This was emotionless and hard and painful, his face dark with things she wasn't sure she wanted to know.

And it was what he needed. Had, for a long time. To become that person one more time, to bid goodbye to the man he'd been out of necessity in the war.

 

Eventually he shuddered against her, and it took Natasha a minute to realize he was crying. He let go of her wrists and neck, and held her steady at the waist as he slid out and set her gently on her feet.

 

“Steve...”

Her voice was rough and raw, and she coughed a time or two after speaking.

He was hanging his head, hair falling in front of his forehead. She couldn't see his face, couldn't see if he'd gotten what he needed, if he'd rid his system of the hurt and anger that had been boiling within him for so long.

And then his knees buckled, and he fell to the floor with a thud, face in his hands and shoulders shaking.

 

When she crouched next to him, softly stroking his hair, he immediately pulled her against him and buried his face in the crook of her neck. His fingers would tighten and release on her shoulder in waves, as he tried to clench his teeth against the sobs that were breaking from his throat.

 

Natasha combed fingers through his hair, rubbed at the back of his neck.

“It's okay.” she murmured over and over “It's okay.”

 

They both knew she was lying.

It would never be okay.

 

But it would be better.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Ra Ra Riot's 'Ghost Under Rocks'.


End file.
